


move hell on my mouth

by whisperedsilvers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Tension, heat and desire, ice and fire, sansa is everything, there are all a little fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:54:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedsilvers/pseuds/whisperedsilvers
Summary: Copper always had a bite, but he was too golden and dense to see that. —Sansa/Jamie





	move hell on my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say, that I've been sucked into this fandom without a second thought and I hate myself for being so stupid. I also have not read the books or actually watched a full episode of this freakin' show —at all. It's all because of the copious amounts of fanfiction I inhaled during Spring Break that I actually can WRITE something. Just a fair warning - if I, somehow, fuck up. LOL.

Sansa’s fingertips ran lightly over the table, in short, rhythmic pulses, too soft to be audible, but significant enough to keep Jon’s shoulders tense. And it’s cold, it’s so cold that she catches Podrick flinch against the sharp slap of wind against the windowpane. But Sansa feels nothing – nothing at all. Ice simmers in her veins like a breathing thing, settling deep in her bones, yet not sharp enough to have her shuddering in silence.

Jamie Lannister’s speech was pretty, curt and to the point. She had heard of his mouth, the biting, glass-on edge japes that sting just as well as soothes. He talked in circles, sometimes suggestive, inappropriate, tongue-dipped in salted honey. He played with words just as she played with them; steel on steel.

It was a stark slash, in contrast, nonetheless

Cersei was nothing, but cruel, and if Jamie bared the brunt of her poison, she couldn’t fault him for taking the long way around—he did learn, which is why he was pledging to _her_ and not Daenerys.

Yet it was Brienne that vouched for him. Her sworn shield stood in front of her, tall, poised and unafraid. There have been times where Sansa envied Brienne’s bravery, her discipline, her unwavering heroism. In some ways, Brienne reminded her of Arya.

But Sansa, she has her own type of weapon.

“Do you trust him, Lady Brienne?” Sansa asks grandly, blue eyes shrouds the sea, “Will you fight alongside him?”

“Yes,” Brienne answers firmly.

Jaime glances at her.

“That is enough for me,” Sansa nods in assent, flickering her eyes over to Jon, she tells him, words sharp and black. Cruel and distorted, that is what the war had made her, but she wouldn’t apologize for it. There are too many things to think about. She sticks the knife in and _twists_ : “We need all the allies we can get, do we not?”

Jon hesitates, eyes narrowing and he snaps the pieces together like a puzzle. He breathes, sharp and almost accusing, “ _Sansa_ ,”

It’s enough.

“Ser,” Sansa begins, if she refrains from saying his name – either surname or first – she doesn’t show her uncertainty, “Has military experience, battle experience and tactics that will be valuable if we are to make it through this war. He will be an asset,” she inhales despite herself, “Rise, Lord Lannister.”

Jamie stands, green eyes flicker from the Dragon Queen to the red-haired wolf. Jamie had not seen Sansa for quite some time, perhaps since Joffery’s death or maybe something a roundabout way, but she is _not_ the same—unrecognizable. There is steel in her spine, fire in her eyes, but there is ice—ice in her voice, in her blood and in her hands. She’s more than a lady, he thinks. More than that and it sends his brain spinning.

Cersei could never amount to the leader she is now and that—that’s something he never deemed _imaginable._

But Sansa Stark is living proof of his redemption and Cersei has no part in this—nor could she ever.

“I am at your disposal, Lady Stark,” Jamie says softly, emerald eyes sharp and gentle, golden and sweet, but Sansa would be a fool not to see the darkness that curls at the pink of his lips.

Sansa allows her mask to be painted with a small smirk, “That you are, Lannister,” she stands up abruptly and the court follows her move – the Dragon Queen seethes beneath clenched teeth – red-hair weaves into blood-velvet, and she finishes, “But Kingslayers should band together, no?”

And Jamie’s blood sings underneath the weight of her words.

He never thought he’d come to like the name he so despised — and it’s _twisted._

Sansa’s words are honey, he swallows them until they coat the back of his throat, and settle into his stomach; languid.

_Kingslayer._


End file.
